


One Mississippi

by sourwulfur



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hope, Hurt!Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fic, angst at the end really, mentions of torture, nothing in scene, short fic, there's actually more fluff than anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourwulfur/pseuds/sourwulfur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles finds himself kidnapped once again. This time, his mind keeps flicking back to important events in his relationship with Derek, while struggling to make himself breathe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Mississippi

**Author's Note:**

> Or, The Four Times they Didn't Say 'I Love You' and the One Time They Did, Surrounded by Angst. I don't know. Was suggested to me by a friend, and I thought it was an interesting idea. Any mistakes are my own. It wasn't beta read and I threw this together in about an hour. So, enjoy.

The room was cold, for it being the middle of the biggest heat wave that Stiles could remember; it was damp and smelled like stale air. There was the distant sound of an air conditioner humming, and the sound of water dripping nearby. Stiles did not know where. His head was down, chin almost to his chest as he tried to focus on steadying his breathing. That only worked so well, as Stiles was sure they broke a rib that time, which only added to the lovely gaping wound in his right side that he was _sure_ was going to end up infected. He could no longer feel the rope biting into his skin or the way his shoulder was nearly out of his socket from the way his arms were yanked around the back of the chair to tie him in place. His face was bloody, bruised, and Stiles thought there was a cut on one side. He could not feel that anymore, either.

 

He lost track of how many days that he had been there when he heard the faint sound of a door opening without shutting somewhere else in the building. A faint smirk tugged on the young man's lips, and he lifted his brown eyes to look at his captive lingering near the door, tipping his head up just a little as he forced out a breath and said, “ _One Mississippi._ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles could remember the day that Scott finally caught on that things were different between Stiles and Derek. The threat of the alpha pack was gone, and they were well into their second semester of junior year. Stiles would spend a lot of time over at the loft, getting in petty arguments with Cora that neither one of them meant. He did his homework there more often than not, and even got to the point where Peter did not bother him as much anymore. The guy would always put him on edge; but, it was easier to not freak out whenever Peter strode into the room. Derek would help Stiles with his homework sometimes, or researching whatever threat they were faced with.

 

Derek taught Stiles a few self-defense moves, and also taught Stiles how to properly shoot a gun. It was not that Stiles could not figure it out on his own; he had seen the professionals do it enough times. Still, it was nice to have someone who did know what they were doing sharing tips and advice. Right around that time, Stiles started to get sick; too much stress and not enough eating right, according to the doctor. He struggled with anemia there for a while, and Derek kept subtly making sure that Stiles was doing better.

 

The day that Scott finally caught on that maybe they could possibly turn into more than just allies or friends was the day that he listened to the two of them bickering about some nonsense, and he realized rather quickly that no matter how irritated Derek got, there were no threats or physical violence. He just crossed his arms, letting out a deep breath through his nose. Stiles mirrored the stance and lifted his eyebrows in a challenging way, but Derek did not respond for a long few moments. “You're infuriating,” Derek all but growled, though it was in a soft, almost fond manner that Scott had never heard before.

 

Stiles slowly smiled at that, all tension and fight leaving his body as he simply replied, “Yeah.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The werewolf near the door let his eyes snap over to where Stiles sat, the teen twisting his hands in their confines once again. They were rubbed raw, and Stiles was actually surprised he had not made himself bleed yet. “What are you mumbling about over there?” the beta snapped, narrowing his eyes at the teen.

 

Stiles simply smirked again, focusing on making himself continue to breathe. “ _Two Mississippi_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The day that Stiles moved in with Derek was the day of one of their biggest fights. Derek was still injured, still _bleeding_ as he moved around the loft, trying to not focus on the way that every action tugged on the wounds over his chest the wrong way. Stiles was pacing near-by, grumbling about stupid werewolves and their hero complexes. “You can't keep running off to face the bad guy alone, Derek!” Stiles insisted, throwing his hands up into the air with a groan. “Every time, _every time_ , you end up worse for wear and I have to... You can't keep doing this.”

 

“I wasn't going to let him hurt any of you,” was Derek’s tense reply as he gritted his teeth, gripping the edge of the table hard enough that Stiles was surprised he did not break the wood. “I couldn't let him hurt you.”

 

Stiles inhaled sharply through his nose, fighting the urge to grab something to throw at Derek. They never talked like that; they did not _say_ things like that. Anything that could be tied to feelings or commitment or something _real_ was a taboo subject, and had been for about a year and a half. Stiles was in college now. “I was fine, Derek. I would have been fine. You... God, running head on into situations like that. Peter, the kanima, hunters, Gerard, the bank, Cora and Boyd; you just. God!” Stiles groaned as he stormed over to where Derek stood, throwing a punch at the man's shoulder. “Every time I leave you alone for a moment you go and do something stupid.”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“No! It's true; and, would I have even known about any of this if I hadn't visited this weekend?” Derek was silent, but Stiles knew the man well enough to know that, no; if he had not shown up that weekend and found out first hand about that rogue werewolf wanting revenge on something Laura did to him (which he had deserved, Stiles would like to point out), Stiles never would have known about the whole thing or the fact that Derek went to face the guy alone. “Stop playing martyr, Derek. Please, just...”

 

Stiles sighed softly as Derek pulled him into a tight hug, but he leaned into the embrace, careful not to hurt the injured alpha more than he was. “I hate when you do things like this,” Stiles mumbled against the man's shoulder. “Especially when I’m not here to save your ass.”

 

It was then that both of them quietly apologized, for arguing and Derek apologized for running into danger... again. Derek did not let go of Stiles for a long while, just holding the other man close while taking comfort in Stiles _being there_. Minutes of quiet between them turned into hours of quiet companionship as they ate dinner of Chinese take-out that Cora brought before they went to lay in Derek’s bed, each one getting lost in his own book. Stiles was reading a novel for his literature class, while Derek was rereading a teenage favorite. “Maybe you should be,” Derek said after a while, idly carding his fingers through Stiles' hair as the young man's head rested on his lap.

 

Stiles moved the book from where it had been hovering over his face so that it was practically resting on his chest and he could see Derek. His brow furrowed a little, and he wet his dry lips as he said, “What?”

 

“Here.” Derek's simple explanation did not offer much else to Stiles' aid, something that the man could clearly read on Stiles' face. “Here, you should be here, with me.”

 

Stiles' mouth opened slightly in shock when he realized what Derek was suggesting. He lived on campus by that point, which was only about an hour away; but, because of that, he did not visit as often as he would like. The young man smiled slowly before he nodded without lifting his head any. He was quite content to lay across the alpha's bed, his feet dangling off the edge and almost touching the floor, as his head rested on Derek’s lap. “Yeah, alright,” replied Stiles, nodding a little once again. “I can do that.”

* * *

There was a loud _thud!_ somewhere in the distance that Stiles did not know the origin of. It made his guard dog (ha! Stiles somehow managed to laugh in his head), turn to look toward the doorway. “What is going on?” the man asked frantically, as if Stiles would give him any response. Stiles watched as the man who had spent hours torturing him then proceeded to barricade the door using anything big and heavy that he could find.

 

Stiles continued to try to get his wrists out of the ropes, or at least loosen them a bit. All the while, he kept having to try to force himself to breathe, and with each deep set of inhaling and exhaling, Stiles breathed out another count. “ _Three Mississippi_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was much too warm to continue sleeping, but Stiles did it anyway. There was a strong arm wrapped around his waist, and he could feel Derek’s face pressed up against the back of his neck. The young man hummed faintly on contentment, taking Derek’s hand in his own to tug the man's arm tighter around his waist. Even in his sleep, Derek seemed to get the message and he held the younger man more firmly to his chest, their fingers laced together. Stiles was finishing up his last year of college, working on a novel to be published. Derek worked from home, making a great deal of money off of editing essays and official documents for people. He was in the process of working out an employment deal with one of the major publishing houses in the area.

 

Cora had moved to New York after two years of college, much to Derek’s dismay. The two of them kept in contact over the phone and through Skype, however. Cora never missed an opportunity to tease Derek about his official-not-official relationship with Stiles. They'd lived together for three and a half years, been each others' support system for so much longer. Yet, they never said the word _relationship_ or _date_. They didn't hold hands in public, though when someone would eye Stiles just a little too long, Derek’s hand tended to find its way into the back pocket of Stiles' jeans and the younger man would be pressed against Derek’s side. Stiles always smirked in response, but never pulled away.

 

Stiles liked the relationship they had. They were _committed_ , even if that word was never uttered. Words, Stiles found, were not always as important as people made them out to be. He knew that despite their lack of _words_ Derek cared about him and would protect him through anything. It went both ways.

 

It was that morning, as Derek finally got up to make the two of them breakfast, Stiles watching lazily from the table where he was attempting to work on one of his revisions, that Stiles realized that he did not just care about Derek. He was in love with the man, and honestly, Stiles would love spending every morning for the rest of his life just like that. “What's with the look?” Derek asked, pouring himself a glass of juice and Stiles a glass of milk.

 

“Nothing, I’m just... happy,” Stiles admitted, rolling his shoulder in a shrug as if the statement did not carry as much weight as they both knew it did.

 

Derek smiled softly in response, carrying the glasses over to the table in an excuse to duck down and steal a kiss from Stiles. “I'm happy, too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They both heard it then. The growls. They were almost feral sounding and sent a shudder down Stiles' spine that made him wince. “Knock it off!” the man demanded before swiftly backhanding the man tied to the chair who had been struggling to catch even a simple breath of air.

 

As much as it hurt his already pained face, Stiles was slightly grateful for that, as the shock of it caused him to take in a deep, shaky breath that almost hurt. They could hear the sounds of fighting, screaming, growling. There were claws meeting stone, and loud thuds; the sounds of things breaking. It only grew louder and Stiles swore he saw a bright flash of white light from underneath the door. “ _Four Mississippi_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“We should get a new place,” Stiles said, the words almost flippant as if it were an everyday conversation. He was sitting on the couch, back to the arm as he was reading over the final copy of his novel, which his teacher was insisting needed to be sent out to different publishing agencies. Derek agreed, but Stiles swore he was biased.

 

Derek's brow lifted, and he said nothing, looking over at Stiles from his place across the loft where he was sitting in a chair, looking through the pamphlets that Lydia had given him in order to help pick a honeymoon spot for Danny and Isaac. Stiles took the look as a statement of Derek telling him to go on, so he did. He nodded and lifted his black rimmed reading glasses up to rest them on top of his head. “We should. I mean, I love this place. We've been here for... a long while, now.” Years they had spent there in the loft, though it looked completely different than it had when Stiles was still in high school and Derek had first gotten it. It felt more like a real home. Stiles loved it quite openly; Derek silently agreed. “I think we should move uptown, though, closer to everyone else, maybe something a little less... open.”

 

The loft was basically still just a studio apartment, where there were no real _rooms_ to speak of beyond the bathroom. It was nice, and perfect for them when Stiles had moved in. It still did not feel as... _permanent_ as Stiles would like. He was not sure how to get that feeling across in words, but he hoped that Derek would understand anyway. The man usually was good on picking up on what he didn't say. Derek remained quiet for long enough that Stiles almost wondered if he had said the wrong thing. However, Derek gave him one of those half-smiles that were not any less honest than a full one that usually showed up when Derek was trying not to smirk in amusement at something. “Yeah, I think we can do that. Melissa has been dropping hints about not seeing us enough because of her's and your dad's schedules.”

 

“Plus, I think Scott and Allison would enjoy some near-by babysitters.” Stiles grinned across the room at Derek as he stretched his legs out so that his feet rested on the opposite arm of the couch instead of flat on the cushion as they had been.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Five Mississippi_ ,” Stiles counted, forcing the words out with a shaky exhale as he continued to twist and move his arms, hoping to get the ropes off. It was not going well at all, and slowly Stiles started to give up his fruitless efforts just as the man in the room with him growled and threw the barricade away so that he could rush out of the room and go see what was happening with his pack. Stiles closed his eyes, focusing on breathing and counting instead of the panic that wanted to rise in his chest at the thought that any number of those pained sounds could have been coming from his family.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They were all gathered in the back yard of Stiles and Derek’s new, small home which was located only a couple blocks from John and Melissa, with Scott and Allison just down the road, and everyone else scattered along the few blocks past that. Allison and Lydia were talking about the upcoming baby shower, while Allison absentmindedly rubbed her swollen belly that had reached the point she could no longer see her own feet. It would have been depressing if it was not so amazing, as she had told Stiles before. Scott, Boyd, and Isaac were gathered around the grill, attempting to not burn any of the food while talking about Boyd's acceptance into the biggest law firm in town. It was well-known nation wide. Danny was talking with Jackson about how he and Isaac were still planning on just a small wedding, despite his mother's insistence that all of his extended family should be there. Isaac just wanted the people close to them there, and honestly, Danny agreed. Erica was chatting away with Melissa about how Jackson and Lydia had finally just eloped a few months prior, not to anyone's surprise; and, John was trying to ignore her quips about how at least it had not been Stiles.

 

Stiles was watching everyone from the open patio door, nursing his bottle of beer while waiting for Derek to finish with making whatever it was he was making inside. A small smile tugged on the man's lips as he tried to figure out just how he had gotten there. From being terrified of the surly guy in the woods, to falling head over heels for him and having a huge family that argued but still loved one another. It was more than Stiles had ever thought possible.

 

He was completely wrapped up in his thoughts, but still he managed not to jump when he felt a warm hand settle onto his hip. Stiles just smiled even more and leaned back against Derek as the man stepped up behind him. “Finished?” Stiles asked, continuing to watch the others out in the yard.

 

Derek nodded a little, watching the pack, their hodge-podge little family. It was more than Derek ever thought he would have. He had never thought he'd be able to start again, to start _living_. Yet, there he was, constantly surrounded by people who worried and cared about him; especially Stiles. He then pressed a kiss behind Stiles' ear before saying, “I love you”

 

Stiles' smile grew even brighter if that were possible, and he pulled away just enough to be able to turn around and kiss the man fully, one hand resting on the back of his neck to keep him held close. “I love you, too, idiot,” replied Stiles, smirking when Derek rolled his eyes in response.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The fighting slowly died out. The sounds of growls and claws and thuds ended, and the air grew strangely still once again. His chest felt tight, and Stiles kept his gaze on the ground when he heard footsteps heading his direction. He did not want to know, to see who was going to walk through the door. If it was his captors; well, Stiles just did not want to think on it. “You fucking idiot,” Stiles heard a familiar voice all but growl from the doorway before he lifted his head. Derek was then right in front of him, reaching around with one hand to rid the man of the ropes around his wrists before starting to check Stiles over for injuries. Derek’s eyes flashed red when he noticed the wound on Stiles' side before he quickly picked the other man up, careful not to hurt him any more than necessary in order to get him out of there.

 

“Y'know, this isn't exactly how I pictured spending the last few days before getting married,” Stiles mumbled, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. He was tired, still not fully sure what was going on, but he knew he was safe. He felt the way Derek tensed, but his fiance said nothing, just held him a little more carefully. “S'everyone else...?”

 

“They're fine.” Derek spoke tensely, as if his jaw was clenched shut; which, for all Stiles knew, it was. Stiles felt someone else's hand brush along his shoulders, and he tensed for only a moment before relaxing, realizing that it had to be someone from the pack. Scott, probably.

 

After that, though, it all became a blur. Stiles was shaking and could not stop; when did that start? He honestly had no idea. He vaguely heard someone mention him looking too pale, and loss of blood. Jesus, how long had he even been gone? He knew he'd been out to pick up the package Lydia had ordered him to get from the post office when he accidentally bumped into a man who just so happened to be a werewolf. Apparently, Stiles smelt too much of Derek, and he immediately became a leverage point. Stiles had known, even through the tortured questioning about where his pack was, that they would come for him. That was why he had never broken.

 

He did not break down until after he was alone in the hospital room while the staff was running his blood to check for anything that could be wrong. His tears practically shook his entire body, which caused his side to practically burn with pain as he clenched his fingers around the blankets beneath him. A moment later, the blanket was removed and a hand found its way between his fingers instead. Stiles continued to cry as quietly as he could as Derek kept his hand pressed to his lips, murmuring soft words of comfort against the skin. Stiles was tired, sore, and in more pain than he could imagine; but, the pain was dying off slowly, something he would thank Derek for later.

 

For the time being, Stiles was hurt, and none of them were sure how long that would last. Stiles knew that all of his loved ones would continue to be there for him, even Derek; especially Derek. The only thing he needed to do now, was breathe.

 

 _One Mississippi_.

**Author's Note:**

> So the whole "Mississippi" thing. I had a friend who struggled with anxiety and panic attacks, and when breathing became an issue, she used to force herself to at least try to count like that. It usually came out mostly air; but, slowly she started being able to say it. It was a way to try to get her to focus on the words, not what was going on around her.


End file.
